Something Never Said
by Miscreant Nun
Summary: You Can't get Lost, because I have left You a Trail of my Love to Follow.....


She sits, for a moment, in quiet contemplation. She knows she has to bring herself to write this. Her whole day has been wasted otherwise. All those hours she sat alone, trying to find the right words to commit those few last sentences to paper. With a deep breath, she raises the lid of the laptop and waits as it powers up to her log-in screen. Her fingers fly quickly over the keyboard and she drums them impatiently on the edge of the desk as she waits for the computer to finish loading. By the time she finally clicks on her browser and opens her bookmarks, her fingers are shaking, and she enters the password for her blog and settles herself to write today's entry.

--

**IN THE DETAILS**

**Sunday, 07 September 2008**

_I sent you my final postcard today – you've obviously not stumbled across this place yet, so I decided to give you a bit of a push. If it works, I suppose one day you'll be reading this, so 'hello', I'm glad you found me. If it doesn't, then who knows, it might not be the last postcard after all._ _I don't think I can stay out of touch, even if it is one-sided._

_I didn't think it would be so hard, sending that final postcard. It's only a piece of paper, isn't it? Nothing more than a rectangle of card. But they were my lifeline, something tangible which connected us. Something from my hand finding its way to yours._

_I went to a small little café to write it, the sort of café I'd imagined we'd sit in if we ever did The Grand Tour.__I indulged in a little people watching, as I'm often fond of doing, but a long time ago I realised that I'm not really watching, I'm searching the crowds for a glimpse of a familiar face. For you. My heart aches every time I'm fooled into thinking I have spotted you, and as my hopes are inevitably dashed I promise myself that this will be the last time I look for you, but it never is. You're the ghost of my past that I cannot exorcise, the one ray of hope that my stubborn heart refuses to let go of._

_I wonder if the postcards have meant as much to you as they have to me. I think sometimes that they have been the only thing keeping me going. I like to imagine your face as you read the few words I've scribbled down. In my mind you are always smiling but I often worry if sending them might cause you more heartache than happiness. Perhaps that's one of the reasons I decided to write this instead of sending the postcards? Or maybe I'm tired of sitting in cafés and never finding you amongst the crowd? _

_The truth is, I don't know. It's very hard to be honest with yourself when you don't know who you are anymore. Simple questions become hard to answer; am I happy? The person I am now probably is, or probably should be…but am I her, can I be happy wearing someone else's life, and someone else's feelings? I suppose I want answers, I always have done, only now I want answers for myself, about what I should do now, where my life is heading and if you'll ever be in it again._

_If you're reading, Harry, let me know._

--

Slowly, carefully, she rereads and submits her entry. That will do, that will do for now. Tomorrow, next week, next month, there may be more to write, but for now, it will do. She picks up the postcard from the side of her desk, and reads:

_I'm somewhere that is all around, _

_A place it's said that God is found,_

_Three W's take you to the web,_

_The rest is 'something never said'._

_A blogspot, just from me to you,_

_Find it. Make my dreams come true._

_R x_

Again, she frets. Is it too simple? Too obvious? Or not obvious enough? All he has to do is assemble the address, but the thought of Harry going hand in hand with blogging is enough to raise a small smile of disbelief.

Spirits lifted by the thought of Harry surfing the internet, she affixes the stamp to the top right hand corner and writes his name and address below it. Her ritual is almost complete now; for the final time, she brushes her fingers over the ink of his name before raising them to her lips, she gives the tips a silent kiss and returns them to the postcard. She might not have the courage to write it but every postcard has been sent with a loving kiss, and this one will be no different.

* * *

**Would kindly request no imitation blogs - the purpose is to attract Kudos's attention. It has to be UNIQUE and it has to be ONLY Ruth blogging, not Harry. Don't forget, in our mission to Kudos, they are really playing the part of Harry, because they are the recipient of Ruth's message.**


End file.
